


Clearer than the Air

by 27dragons, tisfan



Series: Sarcasm Prompts [20]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Divergence - Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Sad with a Happy Ending, Soulmate through Dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 23:43:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17375408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Some people don't have a soulmate...





	Clearer than the Air

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scriptatur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scriptatur/gifts).



> scriptatur: Ohh love the sarcasm prompts 🤩 88 with winteriron? Thank you!!! “I made a new friend today.” “Real or imaginary?” “Imaginary.”

Not everyone got a soulmate. Tony’s parents weren’t soulmates, though Jarvis and Ana were. Tony mostly didn’t remember his dreams, and when he did, they were about building things, or flying, or weird stuff that he couldn’t quite explain. Sometimes they were nightmares. But he’d never dreamed another person, not the way Ana described it.

“Doesn’t mean you don’t have one,” she’d told him, time and again. “They might just be a bit younger than you. Not born yet. You can’t talk in your dreams if they don’t even exist, right?”

Tony’s dad had a different theory. “Can’t imagine who the hell’d want to be saddled with you.”

Tony was six, and he didn’t have a soulmate, probably, but that was okay. He’d get by. Stark men were made of iron. Tony didn’t need anyone else, anyway.

So he was very surprised to wake from a nap to find himself in a place he’d never been before, bright and shining and... and _clear_ in a way that he’d never experienced before, not even with the most perfect glass. It was warm and he wasn’t afraid. And he also wasn’t alone.

“Holy cow,” someone said. “Weren’t expecting this.”

The man, and it was a man, a grown-up man, was laying back on nothingness, except that as soon as Tony noticed that there was nothing there, there was. A grassy hill, and the man was laying on it, leaning on one elbow, staring up at Tony. “Hey, kid.”

“Hi.” Tony stared at the man. Then he looked around -- nothing but grass and gently rolling hills, and still that strange _clear_ feeling. He looked back at the man. “Are you my soulmate?”

“Christ, I hope not,” the man said, sucking in a shocked breath.  

Oh. Oh. Tony’s dad was right. No one would want him. Tony took a careful breath, so he wouldn’t cry, because crying was for babies. “Oh. That’s. That’s all right, if you don’t want me.” It would have to be all right, wouldn’t it?

“No, no, wait,” the man said. “I’m a dic-- er, not very nice. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that… God, look at you. You’re… I just didn’t think I had one. I mean, you’re so _young_.”

Tony sat down on the grass. “Mama says I’m very mature for my age. If you don’t want to be soulmates, can we be friends?”

The man patted the grass. “Yeah, yeah we can. I could use a friend. You gotta name, pal?”

“I’m Tony.” Tony held out his hand to shake, just like his dad did.

The man took Tony’s hand, but instead of shaking it, he folded his hand around Tony’s fingers, bowing over his hand. “My name’s Bucky.” He pressed his mouth to the back of Tony’s hand, like they were in a fairy tale and Bucky was a knight greeting the prince. “Look, I don’t know…. I don’t know if I’ll ever find you again, kid. But… just know it’s not your fault. None o’ this. You promise, you’ll _remember_ that?”

Tony didn’t quite understand that part. It was nice, that it wasn’t his fault, that wasn’t something he heard very often. But what wasn’t his fault? But Bucky looked so earnest and sincere and concerned that Tony found himself nodding. “I’ll remember.”

“Shit,” Bucky said, and his hand tightened on Tony’s and he could feel it, the way he never felt anything in dreams. “I don’t want to go--” His hand squeezed, painfully hard and then… he faded into mist.

“Bucky?” Tony looked around. He got up and turned in a circle, but he didn’t see Bucky anywhere. Then the _clear_ turned into _fog_ and--

Tony woke up. “Oh.” Maybe that was what had happened to Bucky -- he’d woken up. That was okay. They’d sleep again, pretty soon.

Tony slid out of his bed and made his way down to the kitchen for a glass of milk and an apple. “I made a new friend today,” he said, as Jarvis was pouring the milk for him.

“Did you?” Jarvis asked, taking Tony seriously the way he always did. Listening to him. “Real or imaginary?”

Tony thought about that for a moment. Bucky had seemed very real. But the dream-place was for soulmates, and Bucky hadn’t wanted to be soulmates, so maybe it was a dream after all? And even if Bucky was real, Tony kind of... wanted to keep it all to himself, for now. For a while. Maybe until he found out where Bucky lived, and then he’d be able to ask if they could go visit. That sounded like a good idea. “Imaginary,” Tony said, and took a bite of his apple.

“Imaginary friends can be very dear,” Jarvis said. “And just as special, if not even more so, than the people around us. An imaginary friend won’t let you down, or disappoint you. Or be disappointed in you. So, you give them a special hug, won’t you? Next time you talk.”

“Okay,” Tony agreed. A hug sounded nice.

***

Tony didn’t dream of Bucky again that night. Or the next. Or the next. Ana had told him that soulmate dreams happened often, almost any time you were both asleep -- but Bucky didn’t come back.

Maybe he’d been a dream, after all. Or he really, really didn’t want Tony, even as a friend.

Tony was disappointed, but he hid it as best he could. Soon after, Tony’s dad announced that he’d found a boarding school that would take Tony on despite him being a good deal younger than the usual first-year students, and Tony had that to occupy him.

Days turned into weeks turned into months turned into years. Tony was fourteen, and had just gotten his acceptance letter from MIT, when he fell into bed after a late night of studying, and woke up to oddly clear air and a grassy hillside that he remembered nearly down to the individual blades of grass.

He swallowed, hard, barely daring to look, but--

“Oh, Tony, oh, god--” Bucky practically leaped up from the hill. He hadn’t changed much from the dream that Tony remembered as a boy. His hair was a little longer, tangled and greasy as if he hadn’t washed it in weeks. “Am I actually dreaming?”

“Bucky?” Tony’s voice cracked, to his embarrassment. “Are you really here? It’s been years!”

Bucky rubbed at his face, and Tony stared. Instead of a human hand, Bucky had something that looked straight out of science fiction, a shiny metal prosthetic that moved as if it were part of him. “They don’t let me--” he started, then cut himself off. “I don’t dream much.”

“They don’t let you sleep?” Tony took a step closer in immediate concern. “I might be remembering wrong but I’m pretty sure that’s against the Geneva Conventions. Who-- Who’s got you? Maybe there’s something I can do, well, not me, my dad, but--”

“No,” Bucky said, “No, you-- no one can do anything for me, Tony. Why… why am I even sleeping now?” He stared around, like the hill or the sky might have answers for him. “Jesus, they tell you everything about soulmates but they don’t tell you how fuckin’ hard it is to lie to one. Tony, you gotta promise me, promise! You’re th’ only thing I got that’s worth shit, and you gotta stay safe. Don’t come looking for me. Please.”

Tony pouted. “That’s a shit thing to ask,” he said. “If you’re really my soulmate... I wasn’t even sure you were real, but you are, and--”

“I’m not real. I’m a goddamn ghost,” Bucky snapped. “And they won’t just hurt you, Tony. They will _kill you_ \--” He reached out his hand and touched Tony’s cheek. “You’re so beautiful. You’re radiant. All I-- they will _use me_ to kill you. Don’t. Please don’t make me do that.”

It was unfair, it was monumentally unfair. Especially now that Tony was noticing things that he hadn’t, at six, like how goddamn gorgeous Bucky was, holy _shit_. But once again, Bucky was asking, all that intent sincerity in his eyes, and Tony could do nothing but agree. “...All right,” he said, grudgingly. He tipped his head to study Bucky’s face. “You weren’t, y’know, avoiding me?”

“If I could stay here with you, I would,” Bucky promised. “If I coulda been there, for you, all those years… what are you, thirteen, now? I missed so much, I’m so-- so sorry, Tony.”

“Fourteen,” Tony said. “Almost fifteen. Would you-- We can stay here, right? For now? For a while?”

“Yeah, as long as I can,” Bucky said. He ran that amazing hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. “I think-- I think I’m hurt. I might be… might be in Med/Rep.” He sat down, pulling Tony down onto the hillside with him, laced their fingers together. “Tell me… tell me something about you, something special.”

“Uh, I don’t know. I... I got into MIT, that’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asked. “That’s the, yeah the engineering school, they moved to Cambridge just before I was born.” He chuckled. “Some rich swell, he donated a ton of money, Mr. Eastman. They… the school has a _beaver_ for a mascot.”

“Almost right,” Tony said. “Except the school moved, like, _ages_ ago. Before my dad was even born, and he’s old.”

“Age is just a number, right?” Bucky asked, not as a rhetorical question, but seemingly an honest inquiry. “I mean, does it matter? I don’t think it matters anymore.”

“Sure, I mean, if you’re talking about us, I’m not, y’know, freaked out by the difference or anything.” Tony leaned into Bucky’s side, and it was just exactly like he’d always imagined it would feel, but better.

Bucky ruffled Tony’s hair. “I think you’re just right. Even if you’re about half m’ damn age. Just means you’ll be prettier, longer.”

Tony laughed. “All this, and brains, too,” he quipped. “I’m glad you came back.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Bucky said. “Hey, Tony, I don’t… you know. I don’t want you to-- just _live_ , for me, okay? Party and have good friends, kiss some pretty dames. I can’t… I don’t know how often I’ll be here, with you, an’ I don’t want you to feel like you need to wait for me, or nothin’. I ain’t gonna be sore at you.”

Tony bit his lip. “But you’ll come back, right? As much as you can?”

“If I can, when I can,” Bucky promised. He inhaled sharply, pushing his hand against his ribs. “Sedative’s wearing off, they’ll be-- No, no, _no_ , I don’t want-- gimme a kiss, Tony, to bear me away?”

Tony twisted around and pressed his lips to Bucky’s. He’d never kissed anyone before, not really, so he probably wasn’t very good at it, but it was warm and soft and nice and...

...and Bucky was gone again.

***

That special clear dream, the air so sharp it could cut, was dark.

There’d never been any sun, not that Tony could see, but it was always bright and warm and the sky had been as blue as Bucky’s eyes.

Not that night.

It was black, black and starless, nothing but darkness and some faint, unhealthy greenish glow from… he didn’t even know. It suited his mood, though, the half-numb grief and guilt and relief and anger and... everything that had been stirring around in him for days, since his parents had died.

He shouldn’t have thought there were _nevers_ involved; Tony had only been here twice. That wasn’t a statistically significant number for determining an _always_ or a _never_.

Despite barely being able to see, Tony knew exactly where he was.

There was one spot, one place in the darkness, that was utterly, utterly black. Not even the greenish glow penetrated it. Not much larger than a man, if a man was curled up on himself, as tight of a ball as Bucky could manage.

And Tony knew that it was Bucky, Bucky was there, he was there, in this, the worst moment of Tony’s life.

“Bucky,” Tony said, and it felt like putting down a burden to be here, just when he needed it most. “Oh, god, Bucky.” He fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around Bucky’s shoulders. “Thank God. Bucky, my-- my parents, they--”

“... don’t…” Bucky managed. He didn’t uncurl from the ball, didn’t look at Tony. Tony could barely hear him at all, couldn’t feel the solidness of him. It was like he was barely there, trying to wake himself up. “Don’t touch me, I’m… oh, Tony, I’m so, so sorry.”

That brought Tony up short. That didn’t sound like _I’m sorry your parents are dead_ , it sounded like _I did something wrong_. “What? Bucky, what... what happened?” He reached out, but couldn’t quite touch, not if Bucky didn’t want him to.

Bucky looked up at him, then, and even in the dim light, Tony could see that Bucky looked wrecked. Devastated. His face was ravaged with grief, guilt. Agony. “This is a mockery, it’s perverse. It’s-- I… I’m _disgusting_. This is no good, Tony, it’s no good at all. I can’t… I can’t be-- you shouldn’t be here.”

“What, no, no, don’t talk like that, you can’t-- You’re not disgusting! What’s wrong, what... Bucky, please, you’re scaring me!” Tony bit his lip until it was nearly bleeding. “Talk to me.”

“I _should_ scare you,” Bucky told him. “I should fucking _terrify_ you. I’m a monster, Tony.” He ripped at his clothes, pulling off strange-looking armor to reveal a scarred chest, the metal arm practically burned on-- “Look what they’ve made me into!”

“That’s not your fault,” Tony said stubbornly. “You can’t help that. That’s on them. I’m not scared _of_ you, I’m scared _for_ you. Tell me what happened, _please_.”

“I did exactly what I was designed and made to do,” Bucky said, and he was sobbing. Not loud or jagged, but tears practically poured down his face, dripping from his chin. “Mission report, successful. Dead. No witnesses. Objective obtained. I’m a weapon, and weapons only do one thing, Tony. They kill.”

“You’re more than a weapon,” Tony insisted, though something was churning uneasily in his guts. “Bucky, you’re more than that, you _have_ to be more than that.”

Bucky scoffed, bitter, getting to his feet with a grunt of effort. “Why? Because you _love me?_ Don’t you see, Tony-- Don’t you see that’s why this is so awful? Don’t. Don’t come back here again. I’m dead. I’m dead to everyone in the world who matters.”

“You’re not, you’re not dead, and I _do_ love you,” Tony said, and tears were sliding down his own cheeks. “You can’t-- You can’t leave me, not now. You _promised!_ ”

“This may be the only time I _can_ leave you,” Bucky said, that mask of anger cracking. “I have to, I have to rip this thing out by the roots. This is a mockery, Tony. It was never meant to be. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t know.”

He took a step back, toward the darkness. And another, and another. “I wish to Christ I didn’t love you.”

And he was gone.

***

Not everyone got a soulmate. Tony would’ve been fine, without one. But he couldn’t, not even after years of searching, find a single credible account of one soulmate _rejecting_ another.

Alcohol helped. If he drank enough, he skipped right past dreaming and on to completely passed out.

Drugs were better. They painted his dreams so luridly that even if he did wind up back on that grassy hill, he didn’t recognize it.

He was a genius, and he was rich, so he had no trouble obtaining as much liquor and drugs as he wanted, and no lack of people willing to share it with him. Of course, after a while, his body began to adapt to the drugs. It took more and more of them to wipe his dreams away. He stayed up for days at a time, until he was on the verge of hallucinating, and then took the drugs, and that worked for a little while.

But it seemed inevitable, after all, when he opened his eyes on air that was clear and sharp, and the light, wherever it came from, was back, if not as bright as Tony remembered it from the first two times.

“I’ve seen you,” Bucky said. “A few times. You couldn’t hear me. I thought that was… better, maybe. But it’s not, is it?”

“Why are you here?” Tony demanded. “You don’t want me. Look at me! I’m a mess!” The world was tilting crazily, and Tony had to sit down. Fall down. They were sort of the same.

“What have you been doing to yourself?” Bucky reached out, not asking permission, not even hesitating, and tugged Tony into a sitting position, grabbing his chin with that metal hand to peer into Tony’s eyes. “Jesus, are you trying to kill yourself?”

Tony huffed and pulled away. “What do you care?”

“Don’t know,” Bucky said, “but I do. Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe it would be better if… doesn’t matter, does it? We’re both stuck with this, and I care. I care so much it’s breaking me. I can’t… I can’t… I can’t hold onto nothin’, just you, and… I’m an old ghost and I’m haunting myself. How old are you, now?”

“Twenty... six. I think. What day is it?” Tony shook his head. “You won’t even tell me why.”

“Huh…” Bucky patted his hair, gently, and Tony wanted to protest, he wanted to throw Bucky off, except it felt really, really good. Soothing, somehow. “We’re almost the same age now.”

Tony frowned at him. “How do you figure that? Time is still linear.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky said. “Doesn’t change the fact that I’m not quite twenty-eight. I’ve been… not quite twenty-eight for a long, long time now.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Tony complained. He squinted at Bucky. “Are you a hallucination?”

“I was born… in 1917. I died in 1945. About a month before my birthday,” Bucky said. He hugged Tony to him, as if he wasn’t even aware that he was doing it. “Didn’t take.”

“How does that even work?” Tony asked. The whole thing was making him irritable. He wasn’t supposed to have come here! “Who the hell has you?”

Bucky turned his head, nuzzled once at Tony’s hair. “Do some research, genius,” he said, almost like he was scolding. “Arnim Zola. Cryo-hibernation. Project Rebirth. You’re a smart cookie. Look into it. _Live_ , Tony. Stop tryin’ to drown me out with booze, you’re… your eyes are getting yellow. You’re killing yourself one drink at a time.”

Tony couldn’t help but lean into Bucky’s touch. “You didn’t want me,” he said petulantly. “Was tryin’ to stay away.”

“I’ll always want you,” Bucky swore. “ _Always_. But I am bad for you, baby. Everything about this is wrong. Ain’t your fault. It’s never been your fault. It’s just me. I’m poison.”

Tony sighed and leaned harder into Bucky’s body. “Maybe I’m immune,” he said. “Maybe I’m the _antidote_. Are you worse for me than the drinking and the drugs?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky said. “I can’t promise… there’s… this is the only place that I’m still real, that I’m still mostly myself. If I ever see you-- I might not know who you are. I-- I’m wakin’ up, Tony. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I’ve been puttin’ you through this. I thought… I meant it for the best. I thought you’d be better --crap, _lemme go_ \--”

Bucky was fading and he wrenched at himself, like he was struggling in quicksand. “I love you, Tony Stark. Don’t you forget it.”

“I love you,” Tony said quickly, before Bucky could disappear entirely. “I love you, no matter what. You’re mine and I’m yours.” He tried to press a kiss to Bucky’s fading lips, but he barely felt it, just a whisper of sensation, and then Bucky was gone again.

***

Tony didn’t have a soul-dream while he was in Afghanistan. He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or grateful for that. It would have been a comfort at a time that he sorely needed one. But it would also have been a distraction, and Tony wasn’t entirely sure he was ready to face Bucky -- _the_ Bucky, James Buchanan Barnes, Captain America’s right-hand-man and a hero in his own right -- after having been confronted with incontrovertible proof that his weapons were very much in the wrong hands.

But Bucky didn’t come, not then, and not afterward. Tony was left to process Obie’s betrayal on his own, and to finally decide to make an attempt, however late, to live up to his soulmate’s sense of honor and justice.

Knowing Bucky was alive -- somewhere, somehow, sometimes -- made it easier to accept when Captain America was discovered and returned to the living. It didn’t make dealing with the man easier, though. Nor did it help him accept the _literal aliens_ that invaded New York shortly thereafter. He carried that nuke through the portal and thought of Bucky, though. He wondered if Bucky would know, the next time his mysterious captors woke him up, that Tony had died.

He didn’t die. Bucky didn’t come to him then, either. It wasn’t until a couple of years later that Tony opened his eyes on clear air and a grassy hill and took a deep breath for the first time, it seemed, since Afghanistan.

The hill was dotted with flowers, dandelions, mostly, in various states of yellow and bright, or white and puffy. Bucky had pulled a few of the puffy ones up and was blowing them -- make a wish, Ana’s long-gone voice told him -- across the landscape.

“Tony--” Bucky looked up, as if shocked to find Tony there. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I’m not the one who’s been absent for more than a decade,” Tony pointed out. “Christ, you’re younger than me, now. There’s a switch.”

“I don’t age,” Bucky said, looking down at his hands. Absently, he started braiding a crown of flowers, mechanical hand as dextrous and graceful as the other. “I don’t age. I don’t… I don’t remember. All of this-- since you were a kid. Has happened in, I dunno, maybe three months? Six months? I don’t… I don’t think it’s going to go on much longer.”

“What’s not going on much longer?” Tony wondered. He sat down next to Bucky, aching to touch.

“Me,” Bucky said. “There’s something wrong… something wrong with me. I keep slipping. It used to be, they’d thaw me out, and I’d be good for months, do what they wanted. Their killing machine. Point me in the right direction and I’d go. It’s not like that anymore. They can get, maybe a few days work before they have to wipe me again.”

He finished off the crown, tucking the stem ends up and closing the loop. With careful reverence, he laid the yellow and green flowers over Tony’s brow. “I’m breaking. I don’t… I don’t think _he_ expects me to complete this mission. Or… maybe the mission is for me to fail. I don’t think I can win. I think the mission will kill me.”

The child inside Tony wanted to cry out, _It’s not fair!_ They’d only met a handful of times, never even in the real world. But that wasn’t how the world worked. _Fair_ wasn’t on offer. “I’m part of a team of superheroes now,” he said, mouth quirking sardonically, because he was never going to be able to say that with a straight face. “You can tell me, now, who it is who has you. We’ll come and get you out of there.”

“I know who you are,” Bucky said. “Iron Man, threat level 6, kill on sight. I wish I understood how… I know myself here, as much as I know you, and I know… what the Winter Soldier knows. I remember, the briefings, the missions. What I’ve done. What I wish I’d never done. Tony-- I should have died. In the war, I should have died and I didn’t. I don’t think I’ll ever see you again, and I… you know I keep trying to tell you how messed up this is. You have to listen to me, this last time. I’m not going to go to my death with you still thinkin’ I’m somehow… right for you.”

“You’re not going to change my mind, you know,” Tony said, “but you go ahead and tell me whatever you need to say.”

“Howard was my friend,” Bucky said. “I thought you looked familiar, first time I saw you. I didn’t know, I swear to you, I didn’t know… Smart, he was, just as sharp as a tack. But dumb, too. He didn’t think anyone knew, but they’re everywhere. December, 1991. He had a breakthrough, on the Rebirth serum. Remade Erskine’s formula. The Soviets knew their government was going down; they… you have to understand that Hydra doesn’t hold itself to any one particular government ideal, but they work with subversives in all governments. Everywhere. Everyone.”

He swallowed hard and looked at Tony with strange intensity. “The rebirth serum could not stay in American hands. Not with the fall of the Soviet Union being inevitable. They sent an Asset to retrieve the formula. Kill Stark. No witnesses.”

“No,” Tony said. “No, you can’t mean--” His hands were shaking. “ _No._ ” His brain was rebounding between that last irritable argument with Howard and then Bucky, only a couple of days later, saying, _Dead. No witnesses. Objective obtained._ “That was my _mom_.”

“I know,” Bucky said. The ache in his voice was beyond sympathy, or remorse. It was a dull, black spot, like a cancer, that was growing and would consume him. “Don’t mourn for me, Tony. It’s only just that I pay for what I’ve done.”

“I...” Part of Tony wanted, _needed_ to comfort Bucky, to wipe that flat, hopeless expression from his face. But the rest of him was incandescent with rage. “I can’t, I--” The easy breathing of before was gone, leaving him barely able to draw a breath. “You, I...” He shook his head violently. “Why can’t I just _wake up?!_ ”

“I never wanted to,” Bucky continued in that dead voice. “I don’t… I never… they do something to me, they take away my memories, my… who I am. It’s just gone. I can remember, here, but when I’m awake, everything is just… either the mission, or maintenance. It’s either crystal, cold clarity, or it’s pain and confusion. It’s not… it isn’t what I wanted to be, this isn’t the way it’s supposed to be.”

Bucky turned his face to the sky, yelling at God, or the heavens, or the soulrealm. “This is wrong, it’s _wrong_ , I shouldn’t have to hurt him like this!”

Tony yanked the flower crown off his head and threw it in Bucky’s face. “Just-- _Leave me alone!_ ”

He woke with a jolt, tears already running down his face and a pain in his chest that felt like emptiness.

***

It was the very next day when JARVIS said, “Sir, I have news regarding Captain Rogers.” Without waiting for Tony’s permission, a screen opened showing what looked like traffic-copter footage of -- yeah, that was definitely Steve and -- was that Natasha? And who was the third guy? -- facing off against a team of guys in black tactical gear.

He could be in Washington in half an hour. Fifteen minutes, if he broke some FAA rules. “Prep the suit, J, and-- Wait. Hold screen.” Tony dragged the window wider, focusing on the masked leader of the assailants... who had a metal arm.

“Threat level six, kill on sight,” Tony murmured. “Son of a bitch. _Fuck_.” He’d never even told Steve that Bucky was alive, somewhere.

Bucky hadn’t expected to live through this mission, and now Tony understood why.

“Sir, the suit is ready. Shall I deploy?”

Tony stared at the frozen news screen, unable to respond. Which one of them would he even be rescuing?

Fuck it; he’d figure it out on the way. “Deploy,” Tony said.

As it happened, JARVIS had already filed with the FAA for special permissions for low-altitude, high-speed travel citing a probable national emergency. Tony wasn’t sure if he’d actually _obtained_ permission, or just _created_ it, but either way, there it was. He shot south as fast as he could push the suit.

He saw smoke rising before he even reached the outskirts of Washington. “JARVIS, get a lock on the main guy’s support team; let’s clean up the distractions first.” Plus, that way he didn’t have to think about what he was here to do.

“Support team are already out of the equation, sir. Acquiring primary target.”

“Let’s give him a chance to surrender, now that he’s outnumbered,” Tony said, and didn’t think about how weak his voice sounded. Below, the Winter Soldier was holding his own against Steve _and_ Natasha. The third guy, where was-- There. Tying up the Winter Soldier’s support team. Okay.

Tony dropped into place, hovering, and opened his PA mic. “Time to stand down, Manchurian Candidate,” he announced. _Please,_ he begged silently.

“Tony, what the hell--” Steve blurted out. “Get him, he’s killed Fury!”

The shield bounced through the combat field again, this time chucked by some guy with with a tiny knife and a big goddamn gun. “On your left,” the guy yelled, and Steve caught it, even in the middle of combat, a tiny smile touching his features.

“You, I like,” Tony said. He aimed a repulsor at the Winter Soldier. “Come on, don’t make me do this,” he said.

“Iron Man,” the Winter Soldier said, sounding… mechanical. The goggles on his face mask had broken at some point and he was staring at Tony with confused, brilliant blue eyes. “Threat level six.”

He reached around behind him, grabbed a tiny little grenade, and threw it at Tony with terrifying accuracy. It was like he’d already analyzed enough of Tony’s movements to know how Tony was going to dodge, because the instant Tony ducked aside, the goddamn thing _curved._

Tony had just a glimpse of Natasha leaping out from behind a car, holding a garrotte, before the grenade exploded right in Tony’s face, and everything went dark.

***

They were smart. Whoever they were. He was seated in a thick, metal chair, a head restraint holding him back, and magnetic cuffs pinning him in place.

He couldn’t help the way his breath sped, waiting for the wipe.

Waiting for the pain.

“Mr. Barnes,” someone said. He couldn’t look, he couldn’t see anything except the explosion and the way Iron Man had gone slack, falling to the pavement. Target eliminated.

He didn’t answer the person. What could he possibly have to say? What answers could make up for what he’d done?

“Mr. Barnes,” they said again. “Your vitals suggest extreme stress. You’re malnourished, dehydrated, and sleep deprived. We’d like your permission to sedate you for a while, until we can get you stabilized.”

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t acknowledge the voice. There was nothing to say. There was nothing to acknowledge. She was going to attempt sedation, regardless. His wants had never been considered.

A man moved between his line of sight and the wall.

Captain Rogers, threat level 6. Eliminate on sight.

Well, mission failure.

“Bucky?”

“Who the hell is Bucky?” That burst out before he even knew he was going to say anything. He shouldn’t have said anything.

“Bucky, let us help you,” the man said. Captain Rogers. Steve. Punk.

He glanced up to see the worry on Captain Rogers’ face. He was wearing a uniform, instead of the casual civilian attire that he’d been in when the Winter Soldier had discovered him. Needed the authority, maybe.

“You can’t help,” he said. His voice was rusty, his throat hurt. Like he hadn’t talked in years, or maybe that he’d spent years screaming.

“Let us try, okay, pal?”

He couldn’t stop them. He didn’t want to stop them. Whatever they did to him, whatever torments and agonies they visited on him. It was just what he deserved. But they also weren’t going to act unless they got this mockery of permission. Whatever helped them sleep at night, he guessed.

“Yeah,” he said.

He might have said something else, but blackness overwhelmed him.

The last thought he had as it chased him into oblivion was that they must know. They knew who he was, they knew what he was, because normal sedation methods did not work on--

***

The hillside was warm, the way it always was.

The only time, the only place, that he ever felt warm anymore. The rest of the time, he was just cold. He was always cold.

Why was he even here? His mate was dead, and Bucky had killed him. There should never be any soul realm for him, not anymore.

There should have never been any to begin with.

He closed his eyes and allowed the tears to slip free. Mourning the man he’d never so much as touched in the real world.

Hydra would recover him soon; no one else could hold him, they’d never allow it.

If Bucky was very, very lucky, his captors would be stupid, careless. He kept a grace knife, between the plates of his upper arm. Just thirty seconds with his arm free and he could cut his own throat.

“Well, this is a hell of a mess.” Tony was standing where he always stood, here, arms crossed, brow furrowed as he considered Bucky. He looked... fine. Tired -- the skin under his eyes was dark and sunken -- but _alive_. Not even bruised.

“You look good for a dead man.” Which was completely inane. Stupid. Bucky had finally lost what little of his mind was left intact. Maybe they were both dead, and if so, Bucky was going to find his maker and kneel at the man’s feet for giving Bucky this one, last, vivid hallucination.

“Thanks. So do you.” Tony tipped his head. “You didn’t think you could kill Iron Man _that_ easily, did you?”

“Didn’t really have time to check for vitals,” Bucky said, the relief washing over him was so great that he was practically giddy. “But you did make a hole in the pavement. That’s… not usually something people get up from.”

There was some dim part of him that wanted to argue that Tony should have been dead. The Winter Soldier did not fail _simple kill commands_. That didn’t happen, and there was a spurt of fear that accompanied thoughts of what would happen when Pierce knew of his failure, knew… Bucky would be found so easily, he would be found and the consequences of his failure would be visited on not only him, but everyone around him.

“Fuck, I need t’ get out of here,” Bucky said, and he moved as if to struggle against restraints that weren’t here…

“Hey, hey, hey, take it easy, relax,” Tony said, hands out, placating. “You dropped the suit, but I wasn’t in it. Remote piloting. I’m not even in Washington. You’re in custody. You’re okay. We’re both okay.”

“I’m compromised,” Bucky said, trying for urgency, but the relief was still so great, he couldn’t help but just… breathe. Inhale the scent of the grass, the clear cut blue of the sky, Tony. All the things he associated with this… this place. “They will come for me. You won’t be able to stop them. You don’t even know who they are, they’ll execute everyone, on the mere chance that I’ve talked.”

“Well, then, now would be a good time to actually talk,” Tony pointed out. “What are we dealing with, here. You’ve got Captain America and Iron Man both on your side, and we can drag the others in if we need to, but it helps a lot if we know what we’re facing.”

“Hydra,” Bucky said, simply, because there was no point in hiding it anymore. He couldn’t even remember why he’d ever started. Shame, maybe. The pointlessness of confessing, the fear that Tony would try something stupid, like _rescue_ the carcass that was carrying around so very little of what left of Bucky Barnes. “Hydra. They’re _everywhere_. Inside SHIELD, inside the World Security Council. Inside the White House.”

“Yeah, we kind of figured out SHIELD was infested when they declared Captain America a fugitive. How high up does it go? Did they kill Fury because he knew too much?”

“I killed Fury,” Bucky muttered, because it was true. “He… he went to Rogers. Rogers might know. Had to eliminate or discredit Rogers, so he won’t expose Pierce before Insight launches.”

It was hard to say. Each word screamed against his insides as he practically choked them out. Blades in his throat, poison in his lungs. He confessed, with no hope of redemption. He’d done so much, he’d been complicit in so much. The lives that would be lost in the next three days, he was drowning in that blood. He could never be forgiven for what he’d done.

Tony sucked in a breath through his teeth, looking grim. “All the way up to Pierce? Damn it. Okay. We’ll deal with it.” He knelt beside Bucky, took Bucky’s hand in his own. “We’ll deal with it. Promise. You’re safe now.”

“There’s no _safety_ ,” Bucky said. He would die for this, for this treachery, but maybe, if he died exposing Insight, there would be some, later, who would speak well of him. “Insight is _ready_ , it’s going to launch. Millions… millions will die.”

“How soon?” Tony wondered. “Hours, days?”

“Two days, maybe less. Depend-- my mission. _My mission failed_. Rogers is alive. Could launch… maybe eight hours?” He stared at his hands and then finally, finally looked up at Tony, taking him in, drinking in the ease and cool water that was _Tony_. “You know I won’t be able to verify or confirm any of this… when I wake up. Will I even wake up?”

“You’re going to wake up,” Tony promised. “I told you, you have Captain America and Iron Man both on your side, here. But we might need to take care of this Insight mess first. And then we’ll work on getting your head straightened out, out there.” He sighed. “Steve is going to be so pissed that I didn’t tell him about you.”

“What was to tell? I was a tiny scrap of sanity,” Bucky said. “Just a dream. You didn’t have any proof, no idea where to find me. I didn’t want you to know.”

“Yeah, well. I know where to find you now. We’re going to fix this, honey. Promise.”

He didn’t deserve it. Not forgiveness or even absolution. He didn’t deserve Tony calling him pet names, or pretending that everything was going to be all right, because it was never going to be all right. “Don’t wake me up. All I’ll do is try an’ kill you again.”

“Maybe,” Tony said, smiling a little. “We’ll talk about that next time. For now, I should probably wake up and go fill Steve and Natasha in on the situation.”

He didn’t deserve it.

What happened to him was monstrous, and they created a monster. He was the ghost story, the thing in the closet, under the bed. He wasn’t owed any solace, shouldn’t even ask. But he swallowed against the tears that were trying to rise again. “Sit with me? For a bit?”

“Yeah, I can sit for a little bit.” Tony folded himself down onto the grass and leaned against Bucky’s side, like he had before. “Tell me something about you,” he said. “Something special.”

There was a tickle in the back of his throat, and when Bucky opened his mouth, he discovered it was a laugh. “I was two-time welterweight boxing champion of Brooklyn.”

“Yeah? When you’re feeling better, I’ll have to introduce you to Happy. He’s a boxer. My fighting style offends him.”

“I know,” Bucky said, slowly. “I know what I’ve done can never be undone. I didn’t want to, it wasn’t my choice. But I did them. I’m… I may not be worth… this. But I am so, very sorry for everything I’ve put you through.”

Tony took a breath and held it, his eyes closed, and then let it out on a sigh. “I know. I appreciate the apology. I won’t pretend it’s not... difficult.” He looked up, his eyes warm and serious. “But you are absolutely worth it. You’re worth _everything_.”

“You’re either a liar, in which case, you’re pretty good at it,” Bucky said, “or you’re insane, which is more likely, I’ll admit. Or you mean that, and I absolutely do not deserve it.” He hesitated then reached out his hand, letting those cool, metal fingers hover midair, to see if Tony would take it. An eternity of waiting, or maybe only a second--

Tony closed his hand over Bucky’s without hesitation, then pulled it in to kiss the knuckles. “Yeah, we’re going to work on that.” He sighed. “I should wake up and go save the world again.”

For once, Bucky looked around with certainty. It didn’t matter, he supposed, what happened next. “I’ll… be right here waiting.”

***

“Sergeant Barnes?” The girl -- and she really was a girl, closer to sixteen than Bucky was to sixty (or ninety, or a hundred. He couldn’t tell anymore, and it didn’t matter.)

“Just Bucky,” he said, shaking his head and marvelling at the fact that he could, legitimately, reclaim his name. Reclaim something of himself. Some of his soul, worn and battered as it was.

Not quite, he thought, as much as it should have been. “Princess--”

“It is only Shuri,” she said. “What troubles you now?”

“Did you… do something?” He didn’t know how to tell her what he feared, that in addition to cleansing his triggers and conditioning, she’d… falsely eased his burdens.

“I did many things,” she said, grinning proudly. She deserved to be proud. She was by far the smartest person he’d ever met. “All of them fair, just, and for both the benefit of yourself, and what the council decided, in the face of your rather extraordinary circumstances. You are, as of this moment, a free man. And no longer under my care.”

Freedom.

There’d been a hearing; he’d watched most of it on the cameras, gone in exactly once to give testimony (most of his testimony had gone from him to Shuri, through his attorney -- a tall, _green_ woman, well spoken and persuasive -- before ending up in front of the jury.)

They’d declared him America’s longest Prisoner of War.

A hero. Some might say.

He didn’t feel like a hero.

“So, now what?”

“You are a free man,” Shuri said again. “Far be it from me to tell you what to do.” She waved extravagantly at the door. “But for now, please get out of my office.”

He’d always before gone through the other door, the one back to his-- well, for a jail cell, it was a damn comfortable one. But there was no mistaking it for what it was. A cell.

This time, he went to the main door, and the knob turned under his hand.

He hesitated, heart pounding in fear. He didn’t know what was out there. He didn’t know… where he’d go.

Tony had visited him, a few times, in the soulrealm, but he’d never come to the prison. The Raft, as it was called. A mobile, oceangoing fortress. Inescapable. Bucky hadn’t believed that, but he also hadn’t tried to escape.

Steve had come, not once or twice, but _dozens_ of times. He’d also been the one to point out that Bucky’s beard was coming in grey.

The door opened and emptied him out into a hallway.

There were no guards. There were no guides.

Just a long, simple hallway, with an exit sign at the far end.

Might as well exit.

He climbed a set of stairs and found himself on… a landing platform, being lashed with rain. It was dark. Windy.

And there was a shiny helicopter on the platform.

“Sky’s the limit,” said a voice from behind him. A voice that Bucky knew as well as his own heartbeat, though he’d never heard it before.

If he’d paused to consider the moment, he might have frozen dramatically in shock. Might have gone to his knees in supplication. Might have done a dozen different things. Instead, he turned without thinking and let himself fall into Tony’s arms.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Tony murmured into Bucky’s hair. “I’ve been waiting for this, seems like forever.”

“All my life,” Bucky said, and he would no doubt have many, many sessions in which he dealt with his guilt, but for now, all he could do was be grateful.

Grateful that Tony was here. Grateful that he wasn’t repulsed and revolted by Bucky.

Gratitude.

And love.

Not everyone got a soulmate.

Bucky had almost lost his. He clutched Tony tighter, probably too tight, but he couldn’t help it. He had so much time to make up for.

“I love you.”

“Love you, too.”


End file.
